


A Memory of a Song

by blae_kitta



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Crying, Drinking, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kinda, M/M, Music, Season 2 spoilers, Singing, it's kinda like a vignette looking back, like a bit, piano playing, singing together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25397002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blae_kitta/pseuds/blae_kitta
Summary: A vignette of a memory from when Ed and Oswald lived together in Ed's flat of a night of laughter, song and crying, and perhaps the first inklings of romantic feelings.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot & Edward Nygma, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	A Memory of a Song

**Author's Note:**

> Good god, it's been around a year since I wrote this, and I have only endeavored recently to finally edit it. I feel it is extremely typical of me to only after having meandered onto my next interests, actually start the editing process. I am not sure many remain in this fandom, due to it actually ending a few years ago, but to those that still do, or have renewed their interest in it and have stumbled upon this fic, I hope you enjoy it.

Between the high rush of ambition and their games and the riddles, the feared and infamous Penguin and the Riddler would often find themselves alone, a creeping melancholy settling into their bones. In these dismal moments they find themselves remembering a simpler time of when they were not alone; back when they had first met each other, young and fresh and full of ambition, an ambition that pulled them forward unceasingly, both ready to throw all to the wind for the slightest grasp of it. It was back when they had shared Ed's flat, Oswald healing slowly but surely; a time, before that self-same ambition that they had found within in each other tore them apart. At those memories, a longing and loss chokes them, their breath catching for what once was and what could have been, sweet memories with a bitter aftertaste.

There was one night, that they both like to remember, a night fraught with openess and emotion, one without the oath of denying love, one on which they perhaps, had felt the beginnings of something greater.

By this night, Oswald had healed considerably, and so as Ed would come back home from work they would spend their nights chatting together over dinner; a form of take out when Ed was lazy, or when he was not, one of his lovingly crafted home-made meals. 

Being tired, Ed this night had opted for the former, and the chinese takeout boxes with their typical scrawled red castles stood newly empty upon the table. It was raining, and Gotham from the windows seemed smudged, the bright lights and deep shadows of the city and the streets outside mingling together, stark opposites melding to greys; even the sounds of the cityscape seemed to be more muted then normal, masked behind the pitter-patter of the rain. 

Although the outside was muted, inside the flat, all was lit, clear and soft in the warm tones of the incadescent lighting Ed was privy to, it's warm golden tones a complement to the subtle green and purple tones in the room.

Accompanying the take out was a bottle of wine, and two nearly empty glasses. The evidence of their enjoyment of the evening and their wine was the flush upon their cheeks as they laughed, smiles flashing. Ed cracked a joke, drumming his chopsticks against the side of the table, delivering his punchline with a flourish, and Oswald snorted a laugh, more laughing at the dramatics then the joke itself.

And so, talk rose and fell over the evening, the others company being soundly enjoyed, even after their months of living together; vinyls played in the background, melding into the accompaniment of the sound of the rain. Ed occasionally had to stand up and flip them or switch to a new one; but neither of them minded the slight inconvenience as it allowed them to continue in ease their indulgence of liquor, as the bottle of wine was finished and they headed for heftier things. 

As they continued, they found themselves singing along to the songs playing. Grinning to each another, they sang each song matching its tone; sultry, raucous, bold, forlorn, thwarted. Emotions spilled from one to the other, and together they sang them out in perfect charades. Slowly, Ed's stack of vinyls dwindled, until eventually, the last record spun itself into silence. The last song was bittersweet, and it's final forlorn notes shivered in the air, fading slowly.   
They stared at each other, strange within the quiet, a new, unsaid emotion sitting between them. They sat that way, unsure, for what seemed to be a long length of time.

Then, Ed coughed, and stood, formal and excited, hands clasped loosely together in an earnest nervousness he was desperay trying to hide.

"I have something for you, if you would come and listen," he asked, moving closer to Oswald and offering his hand, leaning forward.

Oswald at this point knew him well, and watched him for a moment, enraptured and surprised; it had been unusual for Ed when formulating a gift to be nervous. 

Ed swallowed, and shifted nervously again at his unresponsiveness.

Abruptly Oswald stood, his enjoyment of the other man's nervousness tucked away for now, and, grinning broadly he leant forward to clasp the offered hand.

"Well come on then already, I'm curious," he teased. 

Ed's face cleared of nervousness, face slipping easily into a smile. He covered Oswald's hand with his own, and tucking it into the corner of his elbow, he gently pulled him over to the piano that stood in the corner of his room. Ed assumed the position upon the bench, back straightened, hands splayed over the keys; Oswald leant upon the cover the lacquered wood grain under his hand pocketed with age, he leant forward, intensely curious. 

Then Ed played, the first few lines the piano echoing out the tune, light and low and bittersweet; and then, he began to sing, and the husky words fell heavily upon Oswald's ears, his heart aching at it's familiarity. A song from home, from childhood, from a lullaby sung sweetly over the years, again and again. 

He froze, memories and the love within them recalled, the flavour and tinge of recollection vivid; it is never really the scenery, or the actions recalled, but the emotion, the atmosphere, that golden liquid honey of old memories. That sweet tatse now overlaid with the sickly taste of mourning.

As Ed finished the song and as the last verse was sung, low and clear and soft, he finally looked up at Oswald, hands nervously slipping from the keys to gather in his lap. The very last of the pianos melodic chords faded into into nothing as he stared; Oswald was crying.

At first, he was slightly shocked; but then a small smile slipped upon his face, a deep warmth igniting within him for this man, so open to his feelings, and unafraid to show it. He did not care about his appearance in that manner, and perhaps he could be a bit overdramatic; but he was truthful.

Oswald did not in this instance look dignified or appealing in any way; his mouth was opening and closing resembling rather closely a fish as he gasped for breath, in a desperate attempt to configure words in response. Both hands of his were splayed and clutching the pianos cover as he held himself upright upon it. His eyes, that pale and vivid green, shone out in a bulging manner from the reddened tear-streaked cheeks and dampened long lashes; and so Edward beheld him, surprised at the strength of his emotion, and found him beautiful. 

At that moment, having found no words to express himself, Oswald surged forward, hugging Ed in a clinging embrace, and Ed curled his arms around him and held him fast. They stood like that, for a long portion of time; the rain continuing to fall outside, running off the glass to throw a myriad of shadowed patterns upon them, Oswald's tears dampening Edward's sweater.

"Thank you," eventually came a quiet and muffled response from within Ed's shoulder. 

"Anything for you," he murmered quietly.

At this Oswald shuffled back, ending their embrace and passing a sleeve over his wet and reddened face. 

"Play it again" Oswald said, his watery gaze now peircing, his eyes once again glittering, his determined gaze meeting Ed's own.

At this, they smiled toothily to each other; and something ferocious and raw crackled between them. Ed began to play once more, and they sang, and they sang together. And once that song was finished, Oswald ordered that Ed must play another, and Edward willing complied; and so they sang together once again.

As the night went on, songs were requested and songs were given, each song sang between stolen glances and smiles flashed at each other; Oswald unburdened as Ed with the keyboard, gazed unceasingly at other man, a puzzle -a feeling- yet to be known forming within himself, but it did not need solving now, as they sang and drank the night away. 

Eventually, as they exhausted Ed's repitoire on the piano, they became aware of their own exhaustion. They both stumbled over the wardrobe, clinging tightly onto each other, both a bit too drunk which made the short walk over a bit longer then usual. They both changed flippantly beside each other; the normal complaints of privacy shirked as the both of them pulled on loose fitting and more comfortable items.

Oswald was virtually swimming within the warm flannel pyjamas that Ed had lent him, sleeves and pant legs slipping over his hands and feet, with inches to spare. But too tired to care, Oswald shuffled over to the bed, the extra length folding under his feet like strange slipper. Edward followed; and as he slipped under the sheets, the other taller man slipped in on the other side. 

After a few weeks of hashing it out, it was decided it was the best for both of them, to sleep within the same bed; there was room after all within it, and neither of them got a good night's sleep upon the couch, making for a terrible roommate either way.

Oswald had initially protested voraciously; but in the end, he quieted, coming to realize the benefits, and they shared the bed. He still tokenly complained everyonce in a while, but in reality, he actually enjoyed sleeping in the same bed as Ed; Gotham is almost perpetually cold, and the large number of windows the flat had did little to keep the place warm no matter the amount of heating. A warm body is a warm body, and it was welcomed, even if under complaint. 

Oswald lay upon his side, eyes half-closed watching the back of Ed's head, the chocolatey brown waves fallen to rest on the pillow. He thought over the night they had, and the time they had spent together, and the trail he had followed that had led him there.

The hair shifted, and Ed turned to face him, his eyes closed and face squashed into the pillows.

"Goodnight" Ed murmered to him, sleep making his voice thick.

"Goodnight" he softly whispered back, and he watched Ed's breathing soften and mellow, the swift wings of sleep having fallen upon his bedmate. 

Light from a window across the room illuminated Edward's face and he could see, in the shifting of shadows upon his smoothed cheek, how the rivulets of rain ever changed, branching and forking upon the window pane.

As his own breathing softened and mellowed out, in what felt like a trance, Oswald lifted his hand from the pillow and reached out, his fingertips lightly resting upon the other mans cheek, his own hand now becoming the shifting light-map, casting shadow upon the others cheek. Bewonderment and a feeling akin to a deep sense care- perhaps even love- began to well up inside him once again, that unnamed feeling he had felt earlier this evening.

Slowly, and ever so softly, Oswald traced his thumb along Ed's cheekbone. He paused breifly, near the edge of the man's cheek; then he continued the gesture, gently brushing his fingers further down, following the cheeks edge. He paused again, as he reached his jaw, and the gesture now changed, as he gently cusped Ed's face, whole hand length stretched along it. He lightly ruffled his fingers through the close cropped hair, above Ed's ear, marveling at the softness of their touch.

Breifly, in that moment, a deep sadness was cast over him, pervading his expression; a sadness concerned of the future, of the flimsiness of their arrangement, of the irony of their relationship. But it was only a second, and Oswalds face then cleared once again, sleep taking a further hold of him. 

He sighed, lifting his hand and curling it in towards his own breast, finally allowing his eyes to close. As he succumbed to sleep, he grasped the warm emotion he had felt before, the puzzle unravelled; but that breif moment slipped away, unrecorded and unrecognized, a small seed to flower later.


End file.
